Speaker 1: The last chime of the register died out twenty minutes ago.
Through the front window, the parking lot spread dark and empty,
street lights, pooling amber on the asphalt like spilled varnish.
I should have locked the door, should have flipped the
sign to closed and started wiping down the pedicure stations.
But missus Voss had called at five forty five, breathless
and apologetic, and something in her voice, low, cigarette cured, deliberate,
made me say yes before I'd even thought about it.
She settled into the leather pedicure throne, now a vision
in charcoal silk. Her blouse caught the light as she
leaned back, the fabric shifting like liquid shadow. A strand
of pearl lay cool against her collar bone. Her skirt
pencil cut the color of merlot rode just above the knee.
She crossed her legs, and the whisper of nylon on
nylon shot straight down my spine. You're a deer for
staying late, she said, plucking the glass of white wine
i'd poured her from the tray. I'll make it worth
your while. The warm water swirled lavender scented around her calves.
I knelt at the basin, my uniform skirt tight across
my thighs, and lifted one foot from the water.
Speaker 2: Her foot.
Speaker 1: I wrapped it in a towel, blotted gently. The arch
was high, elegant, the skin smooth and warm. Her toes
ten perfect shells painted a deep ox blood curled slightly
as I dried between them. The scent of her perfume
drifted down, jasmine, something musky, something that made my mouth dry.
You have beautiful feet, I said, before I could stop myself.
Speaker 2: Idiot.
Speaker 1: Her lips curved. Do I heat flooded my cheeks. I
focused on the cuticle, oil, working it in with my thumbs,
refusing to look up small circles at the base of
each nail, methodical, professional. My heart hammered against my ribs. Anyway,
you're staring again, she murmured. I wasn't. I'd been careful,
but when I glanced up, those eyes, hazel catlike lined
with subtle coal, caught me and held. She'd removed a
stocking while I was distracted, one leg bare, now, the
other still sheathed in smoke colored nylon that ended mid thigh.
The contrast made my stomach drop. Sorry, I whispered and
went back to her foot like a coward. Her laugh
was soft. Don't be she swirled her wine. How long
have you worked here, sweetheart?
Speaker 2: Three years? And you make what minimum wage? Tips?
Speaker 1: If you're lucky? She waited, letting the silence stretch. I
have a proposition, My hands stilled on her ankle. What
if I paid you quite a lot to do something
I suspect you've been imagining since I walked in the room. Tilted,
I shook my head, not understanding or pretending not to.
I want you to put your mouth on me, she said,
my heel between my toes everywhere. The bottle of cuticle
oil toppled. I caught it before it rolled off the tray,
but my fingers were trembling. Missus voss I five hundred dollars.
She leaned forward, pearls swinging right now, cashing your hand
before you even start. My throat closed. Five hundred was
my rent. It was the car payment I'd been sweating over.
It was and I hated myself for knowing this, more
than I'd ever been offered for anything in my life.
And if that's not enough, She reached into her purse,
pulled out a folded stack of bills, thick and crisp.
We can negotiate. The towel dropped from my lap. I
stared at her foot, at the arch sheet extended slightly,
the perfect toes the way. The overhead light gleamed on
burgundy polish. Okay, I said, barely audible, speak up, okay.
She placed the cash on the side table. Then show
me my knees found the floor again. I lifted her
foot with both hands, feeling the weight of her heel
in my palm. The skin was warm, slightly damp from
the soak, and when I brought it to my mouth
and pressed my lips to the curve of her arch,
she made a sound, a soft, satisfied sigh.
Speaker 2: That pooled low in my belly.
Speaker 1: I licked long and slow from heel to the ball
of her foot, the salt of her skin blooming on
my tongue.
Speaker 2: Her toes flexed.
Speaker 1: I traced the underside of each one with the tip
of my tongue, then sucked gently on her big toe,
tasting lavender. Tasting her drool slid down my chin. Good girl,
she breathed, Now show me your cunt. My fingers fumbled
with my skirt, the damp cotton of My panties peeled
away from my skin as I inched them down. I
was soaked, had been since the moment she uncrossed her legs.
I knelt before her uniform bunched around my waist and
spread my thighs. Missus voss up fully. She looked at
my exposed center with a gaze that felt like a
physical touch, her lips parting. Beautiful, she said, Now come closer.
She reached for me with her foot, the foot still
slick with my spit, and pressed her toes against my
outer lips. The wetness there mixed.
Speaker 2: With my own.
Speaker 1: She rolled her ankle, parting me, finding my clit with
the ball of her foot. Oh fuck, I choked you
like that. Her toes pushed inside me. The stretch made
my eyes roll back. She worked her foot in a slow,
gentle rhythm, her toes curling uncurling, finding some secret shape
that dragged against every sensitive spot. Squelching sounds filled the salon.
Wet and shameless. I grabbed the edge of the pedicure chair,
my thighs trembling. You're so tight, she murmured, look at you,
taking my whole foot please. I didn't know what I
was begging for more everything. Is this what you needed?
A woman who knows what she's doing? Her foot pumped deeper,
then she drew her foot out slowly, and before I
could protest, she lifted her own skirt. She wasn't wearing
anything beneath. Her folds were flushed, glistening, and she guided
my foot, my foot still in its sensible work, flat
then bare, as she slipped off the shoe toward her.
She took my toes into her mouth, sucking them wet,
her eyes never leaving mine. The suction of her mouth
on my toes sent lightning up my leg. She coated
each one thoroughly, tongue darting between them, before positioning my
glistening foot at her entrance push, she commanded, I did.
My foot sank into her heat, tighter than I'd imagined,
hot and gripping and impossibly slick. Her head fell back,
a guttural cry tearing from her throat, as my toes
buried themselves fully. We moved together, then her foot back
inside me, mine inside her a twisted, filthy rhythm. My
toes curled against some ridge inside her, and she screamed.
Her foot ground against my clit and I sobbed. The
sounds we made were animal echoing off the sterile salon walls.
Pull Out, she gasped. Now, pull out, we did simultaneously,
and before I understood what was happening, she'd grabbed my
ankle and brought my foot to her face. She licked
me clean, her juices, my juices. The taste of both
of us combined, and the sight undid something in my brain.
I grabbed her calf and did the same, sucking her
toes clean, tongue, delving into the spaces where we'd mixed.
We kissed, then, sloppy and desperate, sharing the taste of ourselves.
Then her foot was inside me again, and mine inside her,
and we were fucking, no other word for it, fucking
each other with our feet while we stared into each
other's glazed eyes. The pressure built without mercy. She curled
her toes and hit a spot that made me see white.
Come with me, she panted, and I did.
Speaker 2: She did.
Speaker 1: Her scream tangled with mine. Our feet lodged deep in
each other's cunts as the orgasms ripped through us, pulsing, clenching, endless.
I felt her spasm around my toes, and I milked
her foot with my own, release, both of us crying
out until our voices cracked. When the shaking stopped, I
pulled my foot free and without thinking, brought it to
my mouth. She watched me suck my own toes clean,
a lazy smile spreading across her face. Good to the
last drop, she murmured. We cleaned each other softly, now
tender tongues, lapping over ankles and arches and soles, sucking
gently on toes, pressing kisses to the tops of feet.
She reached for her purse and tossed a thick stack
of bills onto my lap. The pile landed with a
heavy rustle. I forgot to tell you something. She leaned back,
her smile curling into something darker. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted
both legs, spreading them wide. Her skirt fell back, exposing everything.
My other fetish is an asshole fetish. She re each
down and spread herself, presenting the tight pink pucker. Come over, baby,
her voice dropped to a whisper, and give it a kiss,
A kiss. I hoped you enjoyed today's sexy story. If
you love this podcast, leave an Apple review, Share what
sexy fantasies you want to hear. Maybe we can make
your dirty dreams come true.
Speaker 2: See you soon.